


12 Days of Hartwin Part 1

by ibkod



Series: 12 Days of Hartwin 2017 [1]
Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Christ look at these tags lmfao, Christmas, Dirty Talk, Ficathon, Harry Hart has a huge dick pass it on, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Prostate Milking, Size Difference, Size Kink, So much for a fluffy christmas fic, this is filthy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-15 20:23:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13038738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ibkod/pseuds/ibkod
Summary: A series of 12 one-shot, unconnected fics based on a Christmas fic prompt list that was floating around tumblr. Updated at least daily till Christmas.Prompt 1: "MY MOM KNITTED YOU A JUMPER"





	12 Days of Hartwin Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> I apologise for this, in advance. I tried to write a short fluffy fic and I wrote 10k words of filth.

It was a Christmas tradition. Every year, a new one. Sure, ok, it and all its predecessors were ugly enough to be immediately relegated to ugly-sweater-parties and possibly win best in show. But at least they were soft and... well his mum put a lot of effort into them! It was the thought that counted, right?

Eggsy sighed and turned over the neatly wrapped package in his hands. He’d been procrastinating all afternoon and his mum was due home from work within the hour and he’d _promised_ to deliver it while she was out and... he hadn’t. Not yet. He’d made it into his shoes and coat and to the front hall- that surely counted for something. He just had to get his arse off the bottom step of the stairs and out the door.

“Right. 1, 2, 3, _go_.”

He waited for something to happen, like possession via the ghost-of-Christmas-whatever which would take over his autonomy and propel him out he door, but he remained sat on the step. 

Thing was, he couldn’t stop imaging the look of utter revulsion (quickly replaced by polite neutrality of course) on Harry’s face when he was presented with the woollen abomination. No one should be subjected to the mental anguish of having to wear one of his mum’s awful sweaters. He did it out of love for his mum because, well, she was his _mum_ and no amount of pride was worth the bollocking and endless guilt-tripping that would be the result of refusing to wear it. And he loved his mum, didn’t he, and she really did put a lot of effort into these... festive sweaters, and he’d go to the end of the earth and back for her on any given day so the least he could do was wear a tacky sweater for her.

But his mum wasn’t Harry’s mum (Eggsy shuddered, thank _GOD_ ). Harry Hart didn’t have any reason to wear it. Though Eggsy thought he might be able to guilt-trip him into it by reminding him how it had been Christmas when he’d delivered his awful news of Lee’s death, and he already claimed Eggsy’s recruitment had been in repayment for Lee’s death (the little turd, though Harry had already apologized for that, too) so really the _least_ he could do would be to wear one of Michelle’s gaudy sweaters over for dinner once or twice during the hols. Of course that idea was immediately dismissed because Eggsy knew Harry _did_ still feel guilty and he’d be an utter prick purposefully playing on that to manipulate him. It was Christmas, after all- season of good will towards men and all that toff. 

It was that thought that had him up and through the door before he gave himself a chance to second-guess himself. Harry would say yes, because Harry Hart was Harry Hart, and if he was lacking anything at all (seriously, Eggsy was still waiting to find something), it certainly wasn’t in the manners department. He would be gracious, kind, and they would both agree that it was hideous, but he’d wear it anyway because that’s just the sort of man Harry Hart was.

Eggsy hurried down the row of mews as quickly as he could without slipping on the icy pavement, parcel tucked under one arm and the other hand stuffed in his pocket for warmth. It was fucking _cold_ , the sun already dipped somewhere beneath the horizon behind its veil of cloud and it was snowing lightly again. He made it to Harry’s doorstep intact and refused to allow himself to waffle and worry yet again before ringing the bell - it really was too fucking cold.

The door opened, and Eggsy nearly fell over with sensory overload. There was a burst of heat that enveloped him, accompanied by the fragrant aroma of dinner in the oven (rosemary, garlic, onion), the strong scent of pine, and the spicy smell of whatever steaming drink Harry had in the mug in his hand (and perhaps maybe just a little of whatever it was that Harry wore as cologne, though Eggsy had a feeling that was mostly just Harry and not any sort of manufactured scent, because the man was just that aggravating). The hall lights were off, leaving Harry limned in the soft golden light of the sitting room lamps and the bloody _fire_ crackling merrily in the grate, and Harry himself was looking soft and relaxed in that way that made Eggsy feel slightly weak in both character and morals and also of knee, to be quite honest, his hair un-coiffed and allowed to curl slightly over his forehead.

“Eggsy,” Harry said, polite surprise colouring his warm voice.

Eggsy thrust the parcel forward, shoving it into Harry’s free hand. “My mum knitted you a sweater.”

Harry inspected the brightly wrapped package with interest. “It’s rather bad form to reveal the contents of a wrapped gift, you know,” he remarked, stepping back in invitation for Eggsy to come in.

“Yes. Well. It’s a warning, I reckon,” Eggsy replied, unwrapping the scarf from round his neck and leaning down to undo his oxfords (Harry had scolded him for toeing them off lazily).

“Nonsense, I’m sure it’s lovely,” Harry said firmly, as Eggsy peeled off his gloves.

“Ha,” Eggsy said drily. “You’ll see. Open it.”

Harry set his mug on the console table behind him and carefully undid the wrapping and lifted the lid of the box, revealing the green sweater. “Oh.”

“Mmmmm,” Eggsy agreed.

“Is your mother still upset with me, then?”

Eggsy laughed. “How very dare you,” he said archly in an exaggeration of his most posh accent and undid the buttons of his coat, revealing his own sweater. “I’ll have you know that is among her finest work.”

Harry’s mouth opened in amused shock momentarily before he pressed his lips firmly together, corners working to stay straight. He made a slightly strangled humming noise and leaned forward to further inspect the baubled fuzzy Santa Claus staring bog-eyed in two (possibly three) separate directions from Eggsy’s chest. “Yes, I see now. It is very fine work indeed.”

“If anything,” Eggsy drawled, “I’d say this is a sign of forgiveness. She is rather judicious in who she... bestows these upon.”

Harry couldn’t seem to help but chuckle as he collected his mug from the console and lead Eggsy into the sitting room. “Well then I must endeavour to stay in her good books so I may add to the collection in future. Mulled cider, Eggsy?”

“That what you’ve got there that smells like heaven?” Eggsy asked and Harry handed him a steaming cup in response. “Ta.”

Harry settled himself in the armchair opposite the sofa Eggsy flopped gracelessly onto, and pulled the sweater out of the box properly, holding it up to best show off the cartoonish Rudolph taking up most of the front of it. “It’s lovely. Very... artistic.”

“It’s soft, at least.”

“It is,” Harry agreed, fingering the wool as the corners of his mouth curled pleasingly.

“You’ll wear it over for dinner once, won’t you? Mum’ll appreciate it. Then you can chuck it in the very back of the closet.”

“Of course, Eggsy.” Harry said as he took another look at the reindeer which honestly, Eggsy was starting to feel looked more and more demonic the longer he looked at it. Harry’s eyes crinkled as he folded it back up, cheeks dimpling in that way that made Eggsy’s breath catch in his throat and his heart thump painfully in his chest. 

He cleared his throat and looked away, taking in the sitting room. “Jesus, Harry. Santa come round and vomit Christmas all over your house? Looks like a fucking Dickens novel in here.”

It was festive, yes, but tasteful, Eggsy had to admit. And it really did look like something out of a book or a movie, all twinkling lights and festive greenery. There were spruce boughs and holly adorning the mantle above the fireplace, garlands strung from the bannisters, and a wreath hung from the front door. A large, fat Christmas tree was taking up one of the corners near the fireplace, dressed up with soft white lights and shimmering multicoloured baubles, branches laden and spread out generously under their weight. 

“You don’t like it?” Harry asked mildly.

“Nah, it’s brilliant. You did this all yourself?”

Harry looked slightly abashed. “Christmas traditions were always a big thing in my family growing up. It’s ingrained, I suppose. Does seem a bit silly when it’s just me here...”

“Harry,” Eggsy said firmly, waiting till Harry met his eye before he went on. “It’s lovely. Really, it is. I wish my house looked like this. It’s like a crimbo magazine or something.”

Harry looked pleased. “Thank you, Eggsy.”

Eggsy went pink and buried his face in his mug of cider.

Harry invited him to stay for dinner, which, after checking in with his mum (who was just ordering in Indian from round the corner, and had he given Harry the sweater? And did he like it? And would he come round for supper later that week?) Eggsy accepted. The smells wafting from the kitchen had his mouth watering as soon as he’d stepped inside, and the meal itself lived up to the aroma. Harry was an excellent cook, of course (Seriously, Eggsy groaned internally. Where were the man’s flaws?), serving up roasted chicken with vegetables accompanied by a perfectly paired Chardonnay (unoaked, Harry informed him, brought home from the Loire valley in France on a mission that sent Harry through the region two years prior) and finished with pie and a sweet moscato that Harry had to physically remove from the table after Eggsy downed two glasses in under two minutes.

They retired to the sofa after Eggsy did (/forcefully demanded to do) the dishes, Harry lingering at his elbow despite being shoo’ed away (“Eggsy please do be gentle with those glasses, they were my grandmother’s and they’re from Italy.” “Harry please do piss off. I know how to wash a fucking glass.”). Eggsy was buzzing pleasantly as Harry deposited a glass of brandy into his care before sitting next to him. He tucked his feet under himself, feeling extraordinarily content with a warm belly full of food and drink, and the fireplace warming his back as he reclined easily against the arm of the sofa.

“Tell me about Christmas when you were a kid, Harry,” Eggsy requested, tone dreamy and relaxed.

Harry hummed in thought for a moment, swirling his brandy with a gentle rocking motion of his wrist. Eggsy covertly admired the fine bones of Harry’s wrist, the slender taper and elegant notch of his ulna. “Alright. But you mustn’t tease. We’ve already established my childhood was not lacking in silver suppositories, yes?” Eggsy sighed, long-suffering (teasing Harry about being posher than posh was one of his favourite pastimes), but nodded, waving Harry to continue. “We spent Christmases in Somerset, not far from Bath, at my mother’s family home.”

“Some fancy manor, I’m guessing??” Eggsy interjected.

“It was well-appointed, but by no means the most impressive in the area,” Harry acceded diplomatically. “It would snow reliably every year around Christmas, and the grounds were perfect for sledding. My cousins and I would destroy the hedges tobogganing straight through them and my grandmother would be on the warpath for days. She would decorate the house the same every year and while I thought it was a bit stuffy and boring as a child, I grew to love it. There was always a huge tree set up in the foyer each year before we arrived, over fifteen feet tall and always done in red and gold.

“The day after we arrived we would all bundle up and trek into the grove at the back of the estate. The children would be pulled on sledges behind the adults, and my grandfather would bring his axe. Eventually we would select a tree we wanted for our family tree in the sitting room, the one to put presents under, and my grandfather would chop it down and truss it up on a sledge to be carted back home. That night once it was dry we would all decorate it. The adults would unpack the ornaments and the children would hang them. I was always the tallest and so in charge of placing the star on the top.”

Eggsy listened in rapt silence, propped sideways against the back of the couch with one leg folded beneath him and the other draped over the side of the couch, brandy cradled carefully in his lap between sips. Harry was gazing into the merrily crackling fireplace as he reminisced, a small smile playing at the soft curve of his mouth, eyes heavy-lidded under dark lashes. Eggsy had a moment, as Harry recalled an incident where the family hound had chased the family cat up the tree which had tipped over into the grate and caught fire, where he thought he might burst with affection for the man seated beside him. He was gorgeous, obviously, Eggsy knew, as he watched the way the light from the fire bronzed Harry’s skin into something fit for museums, and had known since he first saw the way Harry pushed himself gracefully off that concrete wall outside the police station. But they were a long time and a long ways away from Eggsy sitting in a shitty pub booth shifting his hips further under the table to conceal the hardness in his jeans as Harry casually dusted himself off amid sprawled bodies and thinking, “Oh, fuck.” And sure, Eggsy still found himself forced to conceal a truly embarrassing number of inappropriate hard-ons even several years later, but that really was the least of his worries at this point.

“Christmas morning always started early,” Harry was saying. “The children would all sit at the top of the stairs try to crane their necks round the bannister to see if Santa had come, until the adults dragged themselves out of bed and they were allowed downstairs. Stockings were first, and then we would have breakfast. Eggs Benedict was tradition, though my mother hated it and made herself rashers and toast instead. Then came the rest of the presents. After that, my grandparents and sometimes an aunt and uncle or a young cousin or two would lie down for a nap. Everyone had to be up and present for the Royal Christmas Message at 3, however. My grandmother was a staunch monarchist whose adoration of King George was only surpassed by her admiration of Elizabeth. My grandfather couldn’t stand it and would read the paper during her speech. He was a horrid misogynist, my grandfather.

“Then came tea immediately after, and after that everyone was expected to get cleaned up and into their dinner dress. Dinner was at 8 ‘o -clock prompt, every year, and was nothing unusual. Turkey, stuffing, roasted vegetables... dessert was always trifle and cake as my grandparents abhorred Christmas pudding. I liked the trifle, hated the cake and still do. Then we’d finish the day in the sitting room playing games and watching my uncles get pissed on dessert sherry. The kids were allowed a small glass of sherry or champagne. It seemed like a treat back then, even though I thought it tasted appalling, but I imagine now it was more to knock us out so the adults were able to put us to bed and really enjoy themselves. I got up once one year to get a glass of water and found my parents snogging on top of the kitchen island, absolutely plastered. It was very scarring.”

Eggsy hummed in concurrence. “I bet.” 

He unfolded himself and stood, wobbling only very slightly before collecting Harry’s empty sherry glass and heading to the handsome gilded bar cart in the corner. He returned with two glasses of scotch and sat down again, letting his thigh press against Harry’s as he crossed his ankle over his knee. He passed the tumbler to Harry, leaning slightly into his space against his shoulder and deliberately brushing his fingers over Harry’s as he relinquished it. Harry noticed, of course he did, sent a slightly shrewd glance his way, but Eggsy couldn’t bring himself to care. He settled back into the cushions and sipped the scotch the way Harry had taught him to, not bothering to break the long seam of heat that ran from shoulder to thigh between their pressed bodies. They had been dancing this dance for a long time, and Eggsy didn’t really care anymore if he got a little reckless. 

“So now what?”

Harry glanced over at him as he sipped from his tumbler. “Pardon?”

“Christmas, I mean. Do you still visit your family? Last year you were stuck in Prague, I remember, but what about this year? Coming up pretty fast here.”

Harry looked away suddenly, appearing slightly forlorn. “No no, I haven’t been out to Somerset for many years. My mother lives there now, I believe her sisters and brother still come out each year.”

“Not you?” Eggsy asked, hoping he wasn’t pressing too hard.

“No.”

“Can I ask why not?”

“Oh we just... drifted apart I suppose. Fell out of touch.” Harry was hedging, Eggsy could tell.

“What? That’s it? When was the last time you went?”

“About fifteen years ago, I think.”

“And what made you not go the next year?”

Harry sighed, examining his scotch glass for a moment before looking at Eggsy squarely. “It was made rather clear that my boyfriend at the time was not approved of.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, ‘oh’.”

“So...”

Harry waited patiently. “Yes?”

Eggsy looked away with a huff and swatted at Harry’s knee lightly before glaring at him. “Ain’t like we’ve ever really discussed this, you know. You ain’t never mentioned a boyfriend before and I’ve never known you to have one or a girlfriend, and ‘scuse me if I don’t whether it’s _gentlemanly_ to ask if you’re gay or bi or what, though you seem to do all right with the birds on the honeypots, but I don’t want to assume nothin’ an-”

Harry held a hand up to stem the flow of words. “It’s fine, Eggsy. He was my partner for about five years. Worked in the Kingsman intelligence department back in the 90’s before transferring to Paris and getting himself kidnapped and killed by a group of terrorists. We broke up when he moved and I never saw him after. And for the record, I’m not really up with all the current labels, though I’ve always thought of myself as more of an equal opportunist than anything else,” he finished smoothly.

“Oh. Right then. Well I-... ‘M really sorry bout that bloke then. Five years ain’t nothing. You must have loved him.”

“I did, yes, but eventually I didn’t, and the transfer was more convenient than anything. His death was... upsetting. But I moved past it,” Harry said, sounding slightly detached.

“And since? Anyone else?”

“No, not really. A few casual liaisons here and there, but nothing serious.”

“Ah,” Eggsy said, trying hard to sound casual and not completely transparent. “Well. Handsome bloke such as yourself, I’m sure you could have your pick if you wanted.”

“Eggsy.”

“What?”

“I think that’s enough alcohol tonight.”

“Oh come off it, I ain’t that drunk.”

“No? Maybe I am,” Harry said, and there was something dangerous in his voice in his voice that made Eggsy look up, catching his eyes.

“Somehow I doubt that,” he said, remarkably even considering he _was_ rather drunk, actually.

Eggsy wasn’t sure what exactly was happening here. One minute he’d been sinking into the warm feeling of cheery Christmassy lassitude, the next jolted into crystalline awareness (or as crystalline as was possible after six drinks, though Eggsy wasn’t exactly a lightweight), electricity prickling his skin all over with sharp anticipation. He could feel the hairs on his arm standing on end where he had rolled the cuffs of his Santa sweater over his forearms. His fingertips were tingling strangely, like he would shock Harry if he just shifted his hand resting on his own knee over a few inches to brush against Harry’s thigh.

“It’s getting quite late. Won’t your mother be wondering where you are?” The words were innocuous, the tone wasn’t.

“She knows I’m here. ‘Sides, it’s not as if I have a curfew, Harry. I’m 27, not 17.”

Harry ducked his head slightly, a rueful smile curling the corners of his mouth as he carefully readjusted his scotch glass in his grip before looking back up at Eggsy. “Yes. I’m aware of that.”

Eggsy placed his empty tumblr on the dark coffee table in front of the sofa and turned to Harry, bent knee brushing against Harry’s leg. “You-... you don’t have to say yes if you’re not into it, but. But I want you to know that you’re more than welcome to spend Christmas with us. We ain’t got no fancy traditions and we only have one tree,” Eggsy flashed his best grin, “But you should come. If you wanted. S’not right to spend it alone. Unless you’ve got plans, ‘course,” he finished a bit lamely, confidence draining slightly.

There were other things that wanted to spill out, like, ‘my mum won’t judge anyone bringing home a boyfriend for the hols,’ and, ‘I can’t stand the idea of you sitting here alone on Christmas morning,’ and, ‘Please, please, please, come spend it with me’ and bigger (shorter), scarier things, but he was stopped by the look on Harry’s face, as effective as a rubber stopper on his running mouth.

Eggsy was sure, so absolutely certain in that moment that Harry was going to lean in and kiss him, could see the way Harry’s eyes kept flicking down to his mouth, that it took Eggsy a long moment to comprehend when Harry _didn’t_ kiss him, though he did rest his broad palm higher on Eggsy leg than was entirely platonically appropriate and his eyes were softer than usual, voice slightly rough when he said instead, “If it’s alright with your mother, I’d like that very much. Thank you.”

Eggsy wasn’t sure how to respond, still in a state of mild shock until Harry squeezed his thigh affectionately and got to his feet, wincing as his knee cracked stiffly. 

“I think it’s time to call it a night,” Harry said in a tone that invited no protest despite its gentleness. “The guest room is yours if you’d like to stay.”

Eggsy recovered as best he could, feigning a yawn. “Might as well. Don’t wanna wake the baby...”

“Of course,” Harry replied easily, collecting their empty glasses and leaving them in the sink to worry about in the morning.

Eggsy let Harry lead the way up the stairs and did his best not to feel disappointed or imagine Harry leading him past the guest room and into the master at the end of the hall instead. He nodded to Harry as he stepped into the guest bedroom anyway, watched as Harry padded to the end of the hall and swung his door open and stepped inside. He turned, beginning to close the door until he noticed Eggsy watching him. He hesitated then, for just a moment, and then said, “Goodnight, Eggsy,” and closed the door without clicking it into place in the frame so that the barest sliver of light lit the dark hallway. 

Eggsy stood there for a long while until the light disappeared and the sound of Harry’s ensuite shower started up. He stepped into the bathroom across the hall and brushed his teeth with the extra toothbrush he found in its sealed plastic within the vanity. He waited for the pipes to stop making the slight rushing sound that indicated Harry’s shower was till running and allowed himself a perfunctory wash, not allowing himself to take any extra time to linger, as much as he wanted to. He scrubbed perfunctorily at his face, opened the bottle of shampoo, hoping it was the same as the one in Harry’s shower. It wasn’t, but he lathered it into his scalp regardless.

Once clean and dry, Eggsy quietly exited the bathroom, noting the soft light leaking onto the carpet from Harry’s door, likely from his reading lamp on the bedside table. He closed the guest room door behind him and climbed out of his clothing down to his boxer briefs and slid between the cool covers of the bed. It was familiar - he'd spent enough nights on it since that first night after the loyalty test that he no longer tossed and turned on it or awoke disoriented and confused.

He lay there, waiting for the sheets to warm up and tried to make sense of the end of their conversation downstairs. The flirting had been nothing particularly new. That part of their dynamic had been there from the very beginning and had never changed. It hadn’t come to any sort of fruition either, though. Eggsy would have gone so far as to call it platonic flirting if it hadn’t been for the way he occasionally caught Harry watching him with a slightly out-of-place look on his face. During his training, Eggsy had thought it was merely intent approval. Harry was pleased with his protege living up to his expectations. Upon joining Kingsman ranks followingw Harry’s return after V-Day, the pseudo-maybe-approving look only got more heated, and Eggsy had begun to wonder. Still, it had never resulted in anything. 

What had transpired downstairs, however, felt markedly different. 

He must have drifted off at some point while mulling the conversation over because when Eggsy next woke the sheets were wound tightly around him in a warm cotton cocoon. He glanced at the slightly luminescent face of his watch which read a little after 2am. He’d been asleep for nearly two hours. His phone buzzed obnoxiously on the bedside, revealing what had woken him from his deep sleep. He peered at it blearily, blinking in the sudden brightness as the floating text bubble swam into focus. Eggsy groaned when he saw it was just a drunken text from Jamal, out on the lash and demanding Eggsy join them. He silenced it, tossing the phone back onto the bedside.

It took some work to disentangle himself from the sheets but he managed eventually and carefully opened the bedroom door and padded noiselessly across the hall to the bathroom. He didn’t bother to turn the light on, navigating in the scant light the small porthole windows let in as he relieved himself, washed his hands, took a drink of cold water. 

He nearly jumped out of his own skin when he eased the door open, careful of its squeak-prone hinge, to find Harry hovering uncertainly at the threshold.

“Eggsy-”

“ _Jesus_ , what-”

“I thought-”

There was silence for a moment while Eggsy clutched at his rabbiting heart hammering into his ribcage. He was very aware that he was clad only in his pants while Harry was less than a metre away, wrapped in his dressing gown.

“I thought you might be sick,” Harry said quietly, apologetic.

“No,” Eggsy breathed. “Just taking a piss.”

“Shit,” Harry whispered. “Sorry. Ok. I’ll-... Goodnight then.” 

He turned to go, but Eggsy caught his wrist; that horrible, well-bred, exquisite wrist. He wrapped his fingers around it, felt the tendons and bones under his fingers. “Wait.”

Harry turned, waiting, and before he had a chance to second guess himself, Eggsy said in a rush, “Why didn’t you kiss me, before, downstairs?”

It wasn’t well-worded or smooth, but there it was. No going back. Eggsy was suddenly glad for the two hours of sobering up as his stomach rolled with nerves while Harry stared at him in the darkness, expression impossible to make out clearly.

“Harry,” Eggsy prompted, no longer willing to play the game.

Eggsy could feel Harry’s hand flex in his grip. “I should not have been flirting with you.”

“I wanted it,” Eggsy whispered.

“I know that.” His voice was low, more gravel than actual tone.

Eggsy made a helpless sound and let go of his hold Harry’s wrist, caressing it the way he had wanted to earlier, feeling each luxurious curve and protrusion. “Then why?”

Eggsy felt like a fly caught in a web, unable to look away from Harry’s face, adjusting to the darkness enough to make out the details. His expression was shuttered, wary, and Eggsy’d had enough. He bravely stepped forward directly into Harry’s space, craned up, rising up on the balls of his feet, and pressed his mouth to Harry’s. 

There was a moment, deathly still and frozen like a mountain lake, where Harry was completely still under his lips and hands. Doubt flooded, a resounding chorus of _shit, shit, shit, shit_ ringing in his ears as he pulled away, already apologizing before his lips even parted from Harry’s.

“Shit, fuck, I’m sorry I-”

The effect was nearly instantaneous. Harry made a small noise, feral, then he was in motion like a caged animal set loose. Eggsy was all but shoved against the wall, frames mounted above and around him rattling in protest, but Harry seemed to take no notice, only pressing in against him, pinning him like another insect to add to his collection. He kissed Eggsy fervently, feverish, as if suddenly possessed. Those big hands came up to frame his face, long, blunt fingers fanning out over his jaw and sliding over the tendons in his neck as Harry crowded against him and tilted Eggsy’s head just the way he wanted.

“ _Harry,_ ” Eggsy gasped between kisses, brain trying to catch up.

Harry’s only response was to slide one hand into the mussed length of his towel dried hair, wrapping the strands through and around his fingers so he could use the grip to pull Eggsy’s head back, using his height to tilt Eggsy up and open under him like drinking from a well.

“God - Harry, just - _please_.” Eggsy didn’t even know what he was pleading for, what he was even saying, his brain left miles behind them in the dust.

“Yes, Eggsy,” Harry murmured approvingly against the curve of his jaw, pulling on Eggsy’s hair to expose more of the straining column of his throat to him. 

Eggsy’s arms were wrapped like a vice around Harry, one hand fisting the luxurious softness of his robe between his shoulder blades, the other half-clutching and half-scrabbling at Harry’s muscled shoulder, torn between hanging on and trying to tear the fabric off. His whole body felt like it was burning up, the molten feeling low in his tummy flaring outwards. He could feel the sweat beading in the curve of his lower back, swearing when one of Harry’s hands unerringly swept over that very spot, massaging like he was searching for pressure points.

It went on and on, an indeterminable amount of time, until Harry pulled away with a small gasp. Eggsy could only look at him, couldn’t properly comprehend the sight before him like Harry was some sort of fevered mirage and Eggsy was really still asleep and tangled in the sheets. His robe was half hanging off his shoulder which was wonderfully bare underneath and Eggsy couldn’t help the way his hips jerked against Harry’s hard thigh, his cock already hard and pressing against the firm elastic of his underwear. Harry was breathing heavily, tendons standing out in his neck and when Eggsy finally reached up to brush his fingertips along the errant waves curling over Harry’s forehead, Harry closed his eyes and breathed out, “ _Eggsy_ ” and Eggsy’s brain finally, _finally_ caught up.

“I’ve wanted this - you - God, Harry, you have no idea,” he whispered, leaning in to press his temple against Harry’s.

Harry’s expression was almost pained before he opened his eyes, pulling back enough to look into Eggsy’s eyes. His eyes were dark, mostly pupil in the scant light of the hallway as they scanned quickly back and forth between Eggsy’s, searching. Eggsy wasn’t sure what he was searching for, but he seemed to find it as he exhaled a long breath and pressed his mouth against Eggsy’s in a way that would have been almost chaste if it hadn’t been for the sightly insistent press of it, the way his teeth lightly grazed Eggsy’s lips as he pulled away.

“Come with me,” he said roughly, and took Eggsy by the hand, leading him down the hallway.

The bedside lamp was still on in Harry’s bedroom, his glasses lying atop the split spine of the book cover-up beside the lamp. “Haven’t gone to bed?” Eggsy murmured as Harry closed the door behind them.

“I was thinking about you. Worrying.” Harry came up behind him and slid his hands across the ladder of Eggsy’s ribcage, diverging as they meet across the flat stretch above his navel. 

“You ain’t got to worry about me,” Eggsy breathed, voice hitching slightly as Harry’s big hands slid up and down his torso in opposite directions. His fingers skated teasingly over one of Eggsy’s nipples as the other hand slid slowly downwards through the trail of dark hair leading from his navel below the waistband of his briefs.

“Oh but I do,” Harry’s voice was honeyed and deep as he spoke into Eggsy’s ear, trailing his lips down the long line of his neck and grazing his teeth over the firm stretch of Eggsy’s trapezius. He felt huge behind Eggsy, spine bowed over him to mouth at his neck and shoulder, hands wrapped around him from either side, broad palms stretched over as much pale, smooth skin as they could cover. He was surrounded, engulfed, and it made him feel drunk all over again.

His words were slightly muffled by Eggsy’s skin when he said, “I worry about how much I want you, have always wanted you, about what that means,” Harry’s fingers were toying at the thick elastic of Eggsy’s waistband, “and what it says about me and how utterly weak I am for you.”

Wildly, Eggsy thinks he may actually just fall over dead. How is it supposed to feel when someone gets everything they’ve been wanting for fucking _years_? He would have expected it (had he ever really thought it was a possibility enough to _think_ about what he would expect) to have felt like a relief, like floodgates opening, like a balm to a bruise. It wasn’t that, though - not at all and very possibly quite the opposite. Eggsy had never felt so tightly strung, coiled and wound, in his life. This felt like immolation. Like drowning and suffocating and the type of fever that sucks you under and doesn’t let you out. It felt a little bit like dying and Eggsy had come close enough a sufficient number of times that a part of his most primal and basic instinct flared with fear.

“I worry about how you look at me like you think you know what you want from me,” Harry was saying, moving his mouth to the other side of Eggsy’s neck. “And I worry that you have no idea what you’re getting yourself into, darling, I worry about how much I will _wreck_ you.”

Eggsy almost sobbed when Harry’s fingers finally slipped under his pants and along the hot length of his dick and it almost hurt it felt so good.

“ _Please,_ ”

The touch was fleeting though, a taunt more than a promise, and Harry slipped his hand out from under the fabric again and almost growled in Eggsy’s ear, “Get on the bed.”

Eggsy scrambled to obey, limbs feeling uncoordinated and heavy. He crawled onto the mattress, sinking into the voluminous folds of the duvet as he turned himself around, twisting so he was laid out on his back with his head cushioned on Harry’s pillow. He watched, hardly breathing at all, as Harry slid the robe off his shoulders, allowing it to fall into a crimson puddle on the carpeted floor. He was mostly bare underneath, clad only in a pair of short cotton boxers, the type that would ruin the lines of a suit and that Eggsy knew then that was what he slept in and he almost choked on the bubble of laughter that caught in his throat when he thought about how he had imagined Harry slept fully covered neck to ankle to wrist in a pair of those fuddy old striped pyjama sets, but it doesn’t make it past his adam’s apple which bobbed as he swallowed drily at the sight of Harry’s tightly corded body nearly bare right in front of him. 

Harry joined him on the bed, crawling over him and Eggsy thrilled at the way Harry pressed down onto and into him, holding him down slightly, manhandling Eggsy as he kissed him again. He was all sharp incisors and demanding tongue and Eggsy wondered faintly how polite, buttoned-up Harry Hart survived sharing house with this beast. 

“Don’t think gentleman are supposed to kiss like that,” he panted as Harry pulled away.

Harry chuckled into the curve of Eggsy’s clavicle. “You have found me for a fraud after all.”

“Don’t want a gentleman,” Eggsy realised his wrists were free and sunk his fingers into the thick waves of Harry’s hair, pulling him harder against him, urging him to press his teeth into his skin. “Want you.”

Contrarily, Harry pulled back (Eggsy was beginning to understand some things about just what sort of man Harry Hart was under those tailored lines and fashionable trappings). He sat back on his knees, straddling Eggsy’s hips, and Eggsy couldn’t help but take a moment to appreciate the thick muscles of Harry’s thighs, the sharp taper of his trim waist down to his narrow hips where the waistband of his boxers was riding low, the way the thin cotton stretched tightly over his legs and allowed no room for the hard line of Harry’s cock to tent outwards so that the length was forced upwards into the crease of his groin, straining toward and meeting the flare of his hipbone. Eggsy swallowed thickly, because it should have gone without saying that Harry Hart would be fucking hung.

“Jesus, Harry,” Eggsy breathed.

Harry was watching him fondly, sitting back on his knees so that his hips cocked forwards and out, unashamed and confident. Which, obviously, Eggsy thought - what would this man have to be ashamed of. He was caught off guard, lost in his own appreciation, when Harry slid off of Eggsy’s hips and hooked his fingers under the waistband of Eggsy’s briefs. He began sliding them off, a pantomime of a tease, comically slow as he grinned and looked up at Eggsy through his lashes before swiftly divesting him of them altogether and tossing them off the side of the bed.

Eggsy felt slightly boneless as he allowed Harry to maneuver his limbs where he wanted them until he was situated in the spread V of his legs. He knew what was coming, knew it from the filthy grin Harry was looking up the length of Eggsy’s body with, but it was still a shock when Harry stretched his long frame out on his stomach, curled his hands under Eggsy’s thighs to forcefully pull him down towards him, and basically swallowed Eggsy whole, right down to the root. Eggsy let out a sound that he would vehemently deny later on, and thought about how of course Harry was good at this, of _course_ he sucked cock like a professional, like he got fucking _paid_ for it. His hands slid further under to the other side of Eggsy’s thighs, split generously with all the flexibility Eggsy still had in his hips and groin, and Harry’s fingers dug into the seam of his hips, curling around the flared bone and pulling Eggsy downwards, further into almost the splits, further down his throat, fucking _filthy_. 

Eggsy thought about the man he’d sat and sipped sherry with a few hours ago in the warm glow of a fireplace and a Christmas tree, listening to him talk about the fucking _queen_ in a cut-glass accent that made it obvious to anyone with half a brain that Harry was most likely somewhere on that list of successors, however far down, and Eggsy fucking _sobbed_.

“Fuck, _fuck_!” He was scrabbling at the sheets as Harry worked him down his throat with practiced ease, and Eggsy wanted, immediately and viciously, to end anyone who had been allowed to experience Harry’s mouth on them in this way. 

Harry only hummed pleasantly around Eggsy’s dick, hardly drawing off and working it with his fist long enough to draw in a breath before he was sliding back down, then up, twisting his tongue cleverly round the crown. Eggsy was distantly aware of the fact that he was going to come, and soon. He thought about warning Harry, about telling him he wanted this to last, wanted Harry in him, fucking him when he came. But his mouth went bone dry and the words disintegrated on his tongue when Harry extricated a hand from underneath Eggsy and slipped it down past his cock, briefly pulling lightly on his sac which was drawn high and tight to his body and then sliding further down, behind, to press with unerring accuracy and insistency on just right place on that stretch of smooth skin hidden there. Eggsy could only gasp in, filling his lungs up and up and up, gasping out once, “Harry, _Christ_ ,” before he was holding his breath, lungs full.

He nearly blacked out when he came, right down Harry’s throat, Harry’s fingers somehow both pressing into his perineum and circling lazily over his dry hole simultaneously, and he was still holding his breath, coming silently as his hips jerked and his spine bowed and Harry held him in his throat, swallowing around him while he was coming which felt fucking _insane_. It wasn’t until Harry hummed in approval, purring like some huge cat, still gently working his mouth over the length of Eggsy’s still-spurting dick that Eggsy finally let his breath go with a strangled cry.

“Fuuuuck,” he moaned, caught halfway from shoving back into that tight heat and jerking his hips away, oversensitive. 

Harry hummed again, and Eggsy could feel the laughter in it, the purpose, and he really was getting too sensitive, but Harry seemed to get the message without him saying anything, drawing off to gently stroke his tongue broadly along the length of it, avoiding the head.

“There’s a bottle,” Harry rasped, face buried in the seam of Eggsy’s groin, breath fanning across his dick. “Bedside drawer. I’d like to fuck you, and I think you’d like that too.”

Eggsy swore and groped blindly for the drawer handle, finding the little bottle and pushing it into Harry’s waiting fingers. “Might-... I might need a minute, I...” Eggsy’s brain wasn’t quite back online yet, hips and thighs still spasming lightly in aftershocks.

“Oh no,” Harry said lightly. “No, you’re going to stay hard for me, Eggsy. And then you’re going to come again for me, from nothing more than my cock inside you.” He said it like it was a fact, irrefutable, inarguable.

Eggsy thought he might burst into tears. He might have even done, a bit, if the way Harry shushed him gently was anything to go by, stretching his body upwards to brush his fingers through Eggsy’s wild hair, kissing him gently even as he pressed one, then two slick fingers into him. Eggsy was repeatedly moaning his name already, locking his arms around Harry’s neck and hanging on for dear life. “Harry, Harry, _Harry_ ,” it was slurred, embarrassing, drunk again though the effects of the earlier alcohol had long since worn off.

“That’s it, darling, that’s good,” Harry crooned in his ear, mouthing wetly at his neck and Eggsy was sure there would be marks come sober light of day.

Harry was almost polite about it, the way he waited patiently for a few moments, let Eggsy uncoil slightly and relax around his fingers before he stroked them over his prostate, persistent, unrelenting. Eggsy cried out helplessly, and yeah his dick was _still_ hard, like it couldn’t do anything but obey Harry, and Eggsy watched the heavy glob of come smear onto his belly with disbelief, Harry all but milking it out of him. It was borderline unbearable, and Eggsy needed Harry in him then, immediately.

“Now, Harry. Please, just fuck me already, I’m ready, just do it-”

Harry cut him off swiftly with his mouth in a brief open-mouthed kiss, his fingers retreating momentarily as he busied his hands, breathing satisfyingly ragged in Eggsy’s ear. Something that was definitely not fingers pressed against him, and God he was so _thick_ \- Eggsy realised he’d never even had a chance to get his hands on it before it was pressing into him, huge and fucking _endless_ and Eggsy was sure he wouldn’t be able to take it. He gritted his teeth and screwed up his eyes as Harry murmured into his ear, _yes, God, Eggsy that’s perfect, you’re perfect, darling, you feel incredible-_ before he finally felt the warm press of Harry’s hips against the insides of his thick thighs, sharp hips settling like puzzle pieces into the cradle of his own pelvis.

It was far too much, not enough, felt amazing and overwhelming all at once. Eggsy didn’t make a habit of this, didn’t have the fucking _time_ to make a habit of this, and his body let him know loud and clear that it had been a bloody while.

“Eggsy?” Harry asked softly, lips pressing reassuringly into his temple.

“Yeah, yes, just- give me a sec,” Eggsy half-whispered into Harry’s jaw. “Fuck you’re big, I should’ve guessed.”

Harry moaned softly into his hairline, hips twitching involuntarily and Eggsy hissed at the small shove, gasping, but felt a sharp flare of heat burst low in his belly all the same, a tiny lightbulb going off somewhere in the back of his brain. “You like that? Me telling you how big you are?”

“Fuck, Eggsy,” Harry almost snarled, and Eggsy could feel himself surge under Harry’s weight, could feel the way his dick twitched against the flat of his stomach, bobbing up to brush along Harry’s firm abdominals.

“As if you don’t know, God- no wonder you walk around like that, like you own every room you walk into-” Eggsy groaned as Harry caught his mouth mid-sentence, fucking his tongue in and biting at his bottom lip. As soon as he pulled away his mouth was moving again - telling Harry that it was so fucking _hot_ , how he knew he was gonna feel it for days, how he didn’t know how he’d be able to hide it from his mum because he was going to be walking bowlegged - and Harry’s hips seemed to helplessly jerk against Eggsy at that, moaning into Eggsy’s ear, “God - you filthy little _tart_ -” before Eggsy was chanting “Yes, Harry, _yes_ ,” and wrapping his legs around Harry, pulling him in and grinding his hips down on the length of him.

Harry took the hint and pulled his hips back slightly, working out and back in in steadily larger, deeper movements until he was slipping the head nearly out, teasing for a moment until Eggsy whined and squirmed in supplication, then stroking all the way back in. Eggsy’d been fucked before, he fit a stereotype out there in the field, after all, and it would be foolish not to use the tools he had. There had been the occasional tryst before and outside of work too, but nothing serious, never with him on his back on a bed, and certainly never with someone like Harry stretched out above him, propped up on one elbow, hand planted next to Eggsy’s ear with the other wrapped around the back of his thigh, fingers digging into the ditch of his knee as his hips fucked sharply into him, snapping audibly against the plush cushion of Eggsy’s arse. Harry was working hard now, shoving into him, hips coiling and uncoiling gracefully and lethally sharp. 

Eggsy felt like all he could do was lay there, one leg wrapped around Harry’s back, the other shoved flush with his chest, foot hooked over Harry’s shoulder, staring up at him. It was an effort to engage, to reciprocate, to not just lie back and take it, melt into a puddle beneath him when it was all his body seemed to want to do. He could come just like this, he thought, just taking it. He rocked his own hips, pushing down to meet Harry’s when he thrust in, and Harry gasped and grunted in appreciation, whispering, “Yes, yes, that’s it” into Eggsy’s hair while Eggsy chanted, “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t you dare fucking stop,” face pressed up and into Harry’s straining neck, mouthing the lines of salty sweat that rolled forward and down from the nape of his neck. 

Harry sat up on his knees, let go of Eggsy’s leg and grabbed his hips, lifting him slightly and sliding his thighs under Eggsy’s arse, spreading his legs to balance him there before bending him in half again, leaning over to push Eggsy’s knee almost up to his ear. Eggsy caught something about, “So flexible,” and, “ _God,_ ” as Harry nosed at the skin behind his ear, tone appreciative and heated. “Harder,” he said, and relished the way Harry pushed him down into the bedding, using his weight to press down into him, freeing his hips to speed up, cockhead brushing over Eggsy’s prostate with every stroke. He could feel the way his own cock was drooling onto the curve of his stomach with each pass of Harry’s dick over that spot, spurting weakly, smearing a mix of pre-come and actual come all the way from his navel to his chest. 

He knew he wouldn’t last much longer like this, half-felt like he was coming already from the way his stomach was somehow slick with it. It had never been like this before, couldn’t see how it could ever be again, and Harry better be prepared to keep him after this because he was fucking _wrecked_ for other men after this.

His dick was pretty much trapped between their bodies but Eggsy tried anyways, so close already, desperate to tip over the edge as fast as possible. Harry brushed his hand away, though. “No. Remember what I said. Are you close?” he panted hoarsely.

“Yeah, yeah, please, Harry,”

Harry shoved his cock in, hipbones almost painful against Eggsy’s inner thighs with the force of it, ground in, twisting them slightly. “Come on, darling,” Harry was crooning breathlessly somewhere near above him, into his hair. Eggsy's fingers were clenched into the meat of Harry’s bicep and the nape of his neck, gripping, pulling him down and flush against Eggsy’s bowed body. “Come for me, Eggsy, come on, come on my cock, darling, let me feel you.”

Eggsy managed to grit out, “Oh- _fuck-!_ ” before he his entire body lit up like a live wire, torso bowed dramatically, every muscle tensed, pressing bruises and angry crescent moons with strong fingers and short nails into Harry’s skin. He came harder than he’d ever done before, felt like every nerve ending in his body was frying, sizzling, felt his dick, untouched, pulsing ropes of come onto his already slick belly and knew it should be impossible - he was, after all, 27 and not 17, shouldn’t be fucking _possible_. He ran his fingers through the mess dazedly as his muscles began to relax. 

He finally became aware of Harry panting on top of him, pressed flush against him, hips twitching as Eggsy’s insides continued to contract and release rhythmically, dick still fucking trying to spurt out a last few dribbles. “Harry,” Eggsy moaned, luxurious. “You come?” 

Eggsy felt Harry shake his head, the hoarse, “Not yet,” and felt his muscles trembling slightly under the palm of the hand still pressed against the nape of his neck. He slid it soothingly into the damp curls at the base of Harry’s skull and pressed the flat of his tongue against the shell of Harry’s ear. “Do it now, come on.” 

Harry groaned and lifted himself slightly. “Are you sure?” 

“Yeah, Harry, come on, wanna feel you come inside me.” 

Harry hissed, and Eggsy could fucking _feel_ his dick twitch inside him. Harry pulled off of him, the rush of cool air between their bodies making Eggsy shiver. He sat back on his heels and shifted his hips slightly, moving experimentally, but his attention seemed caught on the sight of Eggsy sprawled bonelessly beneath him, dishevelled and soft around the edges. 

“You’re beautiful, you know that, right?” Harry said suddenly, and Eggsy couldn’t help the noise that fell from his mouth, caught off guard. Harry smoothed a hand down Eggsy’s torso, ignoring the mess. “I mean it. You’re gorgeous - more than anyone I’ve ever been with. Ever known.” 

Eggsy knew he was already flushed from orgasm and was thankful for it, his cheeks burning with the praise anyway. Harry gave him a painfully fond look before leaning down and kissing him softly, lingering. Catching his face before he could pull away more than an inch or two, Eggsy leaned up and pressed a number of small kisses against Harry’s parted mouth. “You gonna come inside me or what? Wanna feel that big cock twitching inside me, filling me up,” he whispered into Harry’s ear, filthy, holding his head in place with his hands cupped round his face. 

Harry swore vehemently and Eggsy grinned against his sweaty temple at the way Harry’s hips seemed to jolt unconsciously, cock grinding into him so that he can feel his oversensitive nerves clamp down hard at the intrusion. Harry swore again at that, softer, and eased his hips into small movements again, quickly gaining speed and force 

“You close?” 

Harry gasped and nodded, hands clenching around Eggsy’s thighs where he was gripping them and pushing them up, exposing Eggsy. Eggsy spread them slightly, his body still sharply angled downwards on the slope Harry’s strong thighs, so much so that he could almost watch the point where Harry’s dick was stretching him open. “You should watch, Harry. Look,” Eggsy urged him, giving a pleased hum when he saw Harry’s gaze slip down to where they were joined. 

“Look how fucking huge you look, God,” Eggsy breathed, no affectation or acting needed, because fuck he _was_ huge, massive in comparison to Eggsy’s now flaccid cock laying in the crease of his hip. “You feel incredible. If you had fucked me in the beginning, back when I was 23, I’d probably be able to come a third time, just from this, Harry.” 

“I thought about it,” Harry managed to grit out, hips snapping sharply, hard and fast against Eggsy now. “I wanted to, wanted to bend you over the table and fuck the cheek out of you till all you knew was my name.” 

“Fuck, Harry,” Eggsy felt his prick twitch, but there was no way after how hard he had come, and twice, too. “Wish you had.” 

“You’d have let me?” 

“Fuck, yes, are you kidding me?” Eggsy laughed brokenly, breath hitching with each brutal thrust. “Was hard as diamond in my trousers under that table." 

Harry moaned at that, eyes dragging away from where his cock was sinking into Eggsy’s reddened, puffy hole and up to his face. Eggsy reached up to cup his palm around Harry’s neck again, drawing him back down so that his knees were hooked over Harry’s shoulders and he was bent in two, but it was fine, he could do that. Harry made a noise and pressed his forehead to Eggsy’s, stroking a hand appreciatively up the line of his thigh from arse to knee. 

“Harry, Harry,” Eggsy whispered, words dropping from his lips in a hushed hum, “Come in me. I’ve thought about it for fucking _years_. Love your cock, love the way you fuck me, God you’re good. Come on, come on.” 

Harry slanted his lips against Eggsy’s, gasping before his hips stuttered, and came to a stop, pressed flush against Eggsy’s arse and hip. He pressed in fully to kiss him, moaning lowly though it and Eggsy could _feel_ the way Harry’s big cock flexed and came in long spurts inside him, knew he’d be ready to go again by the time dawn rolled in regardless of if Harry was. Knew nothing and nobody else would ever come close to this. Wanted to savour it forever almost as much as he wanted to repeat it, immediately. 

Harry slowly sank down and rolled to the side of him, Eggsy shifting his hips so Harry could get his thighs out from under his arse. With a muffled grunt from the both of them, Harry pulled out and collapsed bonelessly beside Eggsy, arm thrown over his chest narrowly avoiding the mess on Eggsy’s stomach. Eggsy gave a long contented hum and let his head sink back against the pillows, ignoring the unpleasant stickiness cooling quickly on his skin. 

“I’ll grab a flannel,” Harry said, muffled in Eggsy’s armpit. “Just give me a moment.” 

Eggsy just chuckled. 

Harry did eventually get a flannel, cleaned Eggsy with gentle care before pulling out the covers from his loose-limbed body and over the two of them. 

“Harry,” Eggsy said sometime later, unsure of whether or not he was awake or asleep. 

“Yes,” 

Eggsy hesitated. “Will you still come over for Christmas?" 

Harry tightened his arm around Eggsy, rubbed his cheek against his temple. “If the offer still stands, then yes, of course.” 

“You’ll have to wear the sweater, all day. It’s tradition. Fair warning.” 

“At least it’s soft.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Harry's sweater is obviously Mark Darcy's from the first Bridget Jones movie.


End file.
